A Million Dreams
by Inbetweeness
Summary: A million dreams are keeping P.T. Barnum awake. If his overcompensated apprentice is the focal point of 999,999 of those dreams- well, that's nobody's business but his own.


_Tick. Tick. Tick. _The constant sound of the clock's hands seemed to taunt him. Each individual tick that reached his ears signified another moment had passed; a moment in which he was very much not asleep. _4:46 AM_. He shifted his eyes to the peacefully sleeping form next to him, her halo of gleaming blonde hair fanned over the pillow. She looked angelic in her sleep, all rosy cheeks and a soft, contented smile upon her lips. _Charity. _The thought of her name caused a deep ache that seemed to come from his chest, and his gut twisted sharply with a sick guilt. Unable to gaze at her, unable to lie at her side any longer, he rose from the bed and dragged his feet over to the window.

He should be happy, he mused sadly as he looked over the landscape still blanketed with the night's lingering darkness. She was everything, all that he had ever longed for since he was merely a young boy without a penny to his name. So why is it, he wondered, that the mere thought of her name was enough to fill him with a deep, overpowering regret?

He knew why, of course. P.T. Barnum had known why ever since his gaze had locked on the young man desperately downing a flute of champagne with a look of raw melancholy in his piercing blue eyes, his dissatisfaction thinly veiled by a false cheery smile. He had mentally likened the younger man to a caged animal, hopelessly wanting to escape his situation but powerless to do so.

"Who is that young man over there?" The words had slipped past his mouth before he had the good sense to stop them. Charity hadn't even blinked an eye, the racing thoughts of her husband unbeknownst to her. She had told her husband who the man in question was, and Barnum had let out a noncommittal hum, not mentioning the topic again for the rest of the night.

The evening had passed quickly, Barnum lost in his thoughts. Charity had noticed that Barnum seemed to be distant, saw the glassy look in his eyes but was not perturbed. If anyone was prone to lose themselves in their own inner musings, it was certainly her husband. Lost in his own musings, indeed. His thoughts were a repetitive whisper: _Phillip. Carlyle. Phillip Carlyle. What are you missing? What are you longing for? _He had tried to shake the intrusive thoughts, tried to rationalize why the younger man had managed to so firmly grab hold of his attention.

He had recognized that look. He too, for the better part of his life, had felt caged in, trapped by his own unfortunate circumstances. They were of a kindred spirit, Barnum had reasoned with himself. That was certainly the extent of his abrupt fascination. If his thoughts had lingered a bit too long upon the striking blueness of Phillip Carlyle's eyes, of the charming curve of his nose, of his feathery hair, of the toned muscles of his thighs noticeable even through the fabric of his firm fitting trousers… well, that was not so perverse, surely.

Barnum had a knack for recognizing all things beautiful and spectacular. It was hardly his fault that Mr. Carlyle was a specimen that undeniably fit both of said categories. It was not his fault. _It's not my fault… _

Barnum was jolted from his recollections by the sun's soft light filtering through the window. Another sleepless night it is, then. A mirthless smile played on his lips. How long could this go on? He hadn't had a full night of rest ever since the very evening he had been reminiscing. If he slept, he would dream. Sinful, vile, incriminating dreams. He dreamt of the desperate groans of a voice that was not Charity's, tightly gripping the wrists of hands that were not Charity's, slipping his fingers and perhaps something _else_ into the lips that most definitely did not belong to Charity. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned in frustration, trying to clear the unwelcome thoughts from his head. In his dreams lied infidelity, and so he would not sleep, refused to betray his wife in such a way.

The rational side of him knew there was not a day that went by in which his thoughts didn't betray her. The attempts at blocking out the fantasies involving Phillip all proved to be futile. As much as he lied to himself and claimed that it was not his fault, he knew deep inside that there was no one to blame other than himself. That one fateful evening could have just as easily been the first and last time P.T. Barnum laid eyes on Mr. Carlyle. Not a single soul forced him to attend one of Carlyle's many successful stage productions, nobody coerced him into burning holes into the back of the younger man's head rather than pay any attention to the play, and undoubtedly no one demanded that as Carlyle took his leave of the theatre, Barnum should quietly slip from his seat and follow him out into the bitterly cold night.

A business proposition, he had called it. They both had something the other wanted. Barnum offered Phillip a new life, an escape, an opportunity for freedom, to see that life did not have to be monotonous and dreary- that it could be magical. All of that and more in exchange for the social influence Phillip's last name would bring to the circus. What Barnum failed to mention were the more dubious motives that spurred his proposal. If, perhaps, a large portion of his idea stemmed from the prospect of getting to work in such close proximity to the intoxicating young man; of getting to be close enough to see if there were in fact freckles dusting the tip of his nose-_there were-_, of having the opportunity to "accidentally" brush his fingers against those of the young man's, of finding out if he smelled like fresh parchment and cinnamon as he had imagined-_he did_-…Well, what Phillip and Charity didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

While it may not have been hurting his dear apprentice and wife, it sure as hell was hurting Barnum. Being at his home, having to pretend, living a lie- it was torture. Going to work and spending an entire day with the cause of his great suffering right under his wing was infinitely worse. At home, he ached with guilt. At work, he ached with guilt as well, but more prominently was the fiery pang of undeniable lust. It was absurd, the affect Phillip Carlyle had on him. As soon as the younger man entered their shared office, each hair on Barnum's body would stand on end and he would be unable to suppress his shiver. It was a wonder that he was ever able to get any sort of work accomplished with that damned perfect young man driving him to distraction. He could never seem to decide if bringing Phillip Carlyle on as his business partner was the worst decision he had ever made, or the best.

"Phineas?" P.T. jolted and closed his eyes briefly, putting forth his best attempt at banishing any and all thoughts of Phillip. He swiveled to face his wife, smiling wearily.

"Good morning, dear. I trust that you've slept well?", he offered. She merely frowned in response, concern shining in her sleep-ridden eyes.

"You haven't slept." It was a statement, leaving no room for argument. It had become routine as of late. She would awake to find him up and gazing out the window or vacant of the room entirely. She feared that the business was becoming too much for him to handle, that the pressures and intense environment of the circus were taking a toll on her poor husband. She said as much but was met with the same indifferent response as usual; a poor excuse about having too much coffee the prior afternoon- just as doubtful as all the other explanations he had given her.

"There is much work to be done today, dear. We are implementing a new act, so today will be the trial run of sorts. I simply couldn't sleep; I must be off to the circus at once…" he spoke hurriedly as he began to dress himself. There was no new act. There was also no need for him to arrive at the circus at such an early hour. However, his skin was crawling with guilt and self-loathing, and he couldn't take Charity staring into his soul with those concerned and suspicious eyes any longer. He needed to leave, and quickly.

Charity nodded slowly in hesitant acceptance but found she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something amiss about her husband. He appeared fidgety and out of sorts, but she could not begin to imagine what would have him in such a state. "I hope the new act is a success."

Barnum smiled gratefully at her in acknowledgment and, fully prepared to take his leave, made his way towards the door. "I… the girls and I will miss you today. We have missed you for a while. Perhaps you could return home a bit early tonight?", Charity spoke with such tentative hope. Barnum's stomach lurched.

It was brief, oh so brief, but Charity was a quick-witted woman. She saw the unmistakable flash of guilt in her husband's eyes that was quickly pushed away and concealed with a wide, forced grin. He didn't meet her eyes. "Of course, my dear. Of course." He turned, and without further comment took his leave.

Charity numbly stood up from their bed and padded softly to gaze out the window just as her husband had been. She pursed her lips, tried to recreate the scenario, tried to imagine what could possibly be causing such a change in Phineas. Before this morning, she had been worried, but clueless. She figured the strain of operating the circus to be the culprit behind her husband's peculiar behavior, but now… now she knew. Phineas was hiding something.

She just had to discover what it was.


End file.
